Snowblind
by She-Goes-Left
Summary: When their car leaves the road, three of the team face a night lost in the woods; no-one knows where they are... and through the falling snow, the shadows are moving.
1. Prologue

**~ Prologue ~**

The wind was rising.

He ran.

Passed almost silently through the shadows making blue hollows in the landscape, between the black trees dividing up the snow into grinning teeth. Following his eyes, now, and the dog; his prey was quick on their feet, and the sound of crunching snow had long faded.

But even without the dog, he could have followed the blood trail.

Dark holes steamed their way through the banks of snow, defined as bullet holes. The trail had been erratic for the past half hour; blood flecked the snow.

He paused for a moment, gasping for breath in the cold. The dog whimpered, circled him anxiously and nosed the torn cloth in his hand that had the original scent. She knew the trail was going cold. As he rested, he could feel the chill on his arms. The grey clouds above were heavy with approaching storm, starting to shred as the snow fell high above him.

He swore under his breath. This was taking longer than he thought.

The dog whined; a long moan that made him shiver. Standing straight, he stared down at the dark spots in the wounded snow, like wine on a tablecloth.

They had fallen here. Stumbled, and taken a while to get up. Blood not just from the bullet wound, but sinking out from the boots as well.

Snow started to fall around him, sucking in the sound of his breath.

He considered the dent in the snow. Then, he holstered his gun.

_Not giving up, _he told himself. More a reappraisal of the chase's worth. His prey was not long for this world, one way or another.

All things considered, they may have preferred the bullet.


	2. Chapter One

**~ Chapter One ~**

"Oh, for the love of God—"

Tony slammed on the brakes, wrenching his passengers forward. The car wheels shrieked, and they came to a halt with the headlights just brushing the snow bank collapsed across the road.

Ziva sat back up, rubbing her sternum. "I told you the road would be blocked."

"No, you didn't. You said there might be snow on the road. You did _not _say there would be a freakin' avalanche."

Ziva gave him a cold look. "We are at the bottom of a hill. What on earth did you think I meant?"

"Why didn't you say anything? We've been driving for half an hour!"

"I did, but you said you knew what you were doing. Why should a Probie like me interfere with your pig-headedness?"

Tony groaned, resting his head on the wheel. "An hour. We just wasted a whole hour, and we're still lost. So nice to know the taxpayers dollars are going towards us being almost completely incompetent."

"I am not incompetent," Ziva snapped. "This is not what I was trained for."

He snorted, lifted his head. "What, reading maps?"

"Following idiocy."

In the back seat, Tim sighed.

Tony's head snapped around. "I'm sorry, McGee, do you have something you want to add to this conversation?"

Tim kept his eye on the file lying open in his lap. "Not a thing."

"Good." Tony snapped the car into reverse. Tim gripped the seat tightly as the car screeched through a three point turn.

"So. North for ten miles, then a left turn?"

Ziva's voice was cold. "That is correct."

"Perfect." Tony rammed the gear stick into drive and dropped the accelerator. The car jerked forward, smacking Tim's head back into the headrest. He rubbed his skull gingerly; at this rate he'd have a concussion by the time they got back to NCIS.

Still, at least he could get out of the car then. Safe in the backseat, he could see the rage tight across Ziva's shoulders; and if Tony clenched his jaw any tighter, he'd pop a filling.

Forget awkward. The trip had turned downright unpleasant.

They'd been sniping each other since they'd left the highway after a bad accident had stopped traffic indefinitely, intending to rejoin after the blockage; however, many of the roads had not been plowed in the recent snow fall. That left them out in the backwaters of Pennsylvania, cold, tired and facing a very long drive home.

There was silence from the front seat. Tim shook his head, stared at the file on his lap; if he couldn't work, he could at least think about the case.

Anagha Sunil, the victim; found dead two days ago. She had moved extensively in the social circle of Hamilton, at least until a month ago where she had suddenly become withdrawn, keeping to her house and refusing visitors.

Her husband, Petty Officer Taimoor Sunil, was still overseas and had called her sister when she had not answered his calls. Her sister had found her with her throat split.

They'd spent the day questioning family and friends, accumulating bits and pieces that might mean nothing. McGee was itching to get his fingers on the laptop currently sitting in the trunk; they'd found it in the house, zipped up inside a sofa cushion

He twitched a little as his phone beeped; Abby had sent him a text.

**_Where r u guys?_**

**Pennsylvania somewhere. Accident on the highway.**

**_U ok?_**

**Just a detour. We're trying to go around, if Z and T don't kill each other first.**

**_B careful. Don't let the evidence go cold. =) Abs xox_**

He smiled a little, snapped his phone shut.

There was something in the file niggling at him. With a frown he shut it, dropped it on the seat beside him. Better to let it simmer than force the answer.

Fresh ice crunched under the wheels. Tony slowed down a little more, muttering to himself. "I knew I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque."

"What?"

"Bugs Bunny," Tim offered.

"Didn't they have Bugs Bunny in Israel, David?" The tone was affable, no bite in the tail. Tony offering a truce.

Ziva was quiet for a moment, then relented. "I preferred the Muppets."

"Oh, I loved the Muppets! Had a thing for Miss Piggy in the first grade."

Ziva looked at him sidelong. "She is a puppet."

Tim wrinkled his nose. "And a pig."

"Well, there's not a lot of hot chicks on children's TV, between her and Eloise there wasn't much of a contest. Till I found the infomercial channel." A happy sigh. "Never went back."

"I am somehow worried that this doesn't surprise me."

"Did miss it sometimes, though. Especially the Swedish Chef. And Kermit. He really spoke to me, you know? _It's not that easy being gree_n…"

"I do not see you as Kermit."

"What then? Rizzo?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of, say… Fozzie Bear?"

Tim bit back a grin.

Tony glowered at him in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, well you know who you remind me off? Beaker. Gabbing off but no one has a clue what he's saying."

Ziva cocked her head. "Actually, Beaker reminds me of more of Palmer."

Tim considered. "Very skinny…"

"… and those round terrified eyes..."

"And Ducky as Honeydew!" Tony guffawed, then winced. "We've been out here way too long."

"Yes. It is getting cold." Ziva reached forward, cranking up the heat, then flicking on the radio as an afterthought.

The heat was very pleasant. Tim shut his eyes, let himself drift a little.

_"… currently 2:26 PM. There's been a scattering of storms across the country with severe weather warning for many of the eastern states; snow storms are expected to hit within the next 24 hours in the states of Maine, New York, all the way down to part of North Carolina. We advise…"_

It all sort of faded away. He could feel his thoughts turning, shifting out of step and drifting into odd places. Snow crunching like beavers grinding their teeth, shadows moving spider legs across the back of his eyelids. Moving fast across the snow, and a smell, like metal, hot—

"Tony!"

The screech of tires.

He was jerked to the left; Tim's eyed flew open, just in time to see the deer shooting past the window. There was a flash of a dark eye surrounded by staring whites.

Then the wheels fell mute as they hit the ice.

There was a second to see Tony struggling to get the car under control, feeling the wheels skid and white fear at the sight of the road dropping away. Then thrown back, up against the roof as it reached down to slice his back, slammed back down. Pain shooting like fire, everywhere—

Then the dull whump of water, and cold like an electric shock.

Darkness outside the windows.


	3. Chapter Two

**~ Chapter Two ~**

"Ziva!"

A hand shaking her shoulder, pain flaring across her face.

"Ziva, wake up!"

Shadow fingers on her arm, a cold hand lifting her head. McGee flickered before her, blood on his lip and eyes all whites.

"You okay?"

"What…"

"Are you hurt."

She shook her head, but honestly couldn't tell. He loosed his grip, and she sagged back to hit the window.

_Why is it night? _The thought flickered through the ache in her head.

They were surrounded by black. Water gushed in through the cracks like oil around her knees, climbing up the door and so cold it burned like molten metal. Their voices sounded odd, tinny in the tiny space.

Only two.

"Tony?" He was slumped over the wheel, bleeding; McGee hauled him upright and away from water the rising towards his chin.

Not moving.

"Tony!" McGee pinched him hard on the cheek, shook him. He rolled in his grip like a doll. The ugly flopping of his head seemed to jerk her brain out of the fog.

Get out.

She tugged on the door handle. Yanked hard, slammed her shoulder against it, but it was like stone.

They couldn't get out.

Water at her hips, legs burning.

She had been panicked only three times during her life; it seemed as though she would have to add a fourth before it ended. Her knuckles split as she pounded on the window, but it would not shatter.

"Ziva!" McGee, face white, pulling her arm away from the door.

"McGee, we are going to drown!" She could hear the terror in her own voice.

"We won't. Please, calm down." The fact that he was trying so hard to keep his voice level made her hesitate.

He took a breath, gulped. "You'll be able to open the door when the car fills up."

"Fills up!" Water was surging in, burning her waist. Less than thirty seconds and they'd be drowning.

"Pressure'll equalise. Take in deep breaths, I don't know how far down we are. I'll be right behind you, okay?"

Ribs. Like acid. Less than ten seconds.

She looked at him, and could see his terror; but beneath that the resignation. They had no choice.

She reached over, snapped open Tony's seatbelt lock and dragged him onto her seat; the water slid around their throats. Two inches.

McGee gulped, water around his ears. "Ready?"

_No. _But she didn't get the chance.

Water swarmed over her head.

The first instinct of her body was to gasp at such agonizing cold. She very nearly did, and only the terror tight in her throat forced it down. It was like being punched in the chest. Her muscles were seizing up as she wrenched at the door, ramming her shoulder against it.

Nothing. Her diaphragm jerked, lungs twisting.

A dull whip sound, and a swirl of rushing water. The door beside her opened a fraction. Jamming her legs against the seat, she forced it open. Water swirled through the gap, and they drifted free.

A moment of stillness, floating through shafts of light dancing through the moving ice above their heads. She felt an instant of wonder at the sight, evaporating with a single realisation.

With Tony's dead weight, they were sinking.

It was only six feet to the surface, but it felt like far more. Tony's weight and the water sinking into her clothes meant that black was swarming in her vision by the time she broke the surface.

One strangled breath. Half icy air, half water.

Then back under.

She struggled up again, trying to hold him up; the light started to fall away. McGee came up beside her, grabbed Tony under one arm and dragged them both up.

A proper breath, and her vision cleared.

They were half drowned by the time they struggled onto the shore, dragging Tony behind them. They flopped down onto the snow beside him, gasping for breath.

"Oh no."

She turned: Ice was already swirling over the black hole that had swallowed the car. They watched the faint outline vanish into shadow.

"All the evidence is in the trunk!" McGee started back into the water. She grabbed his arm hard, yanked him back.

"It is in plastic, it should be fine until they can pull it out," she gasped. "And I think Abby would rather you over the evidence."

He stared at the water, face tight. "It's a murder case, Ziva. That's all we have."

"I know. But you do not need to die for it." She rolled Tony over, touched his cheek. He was breathing, each gasp ragged as water leaked out the sides of his lips.

"Tony." She shook him a little. His eyes were shut tight; a trail of blood was freezing along the side of his head, and the inside of his mouth was dark.

McGee gripped his wrist. "He's got a p-pulse."

"You're bleeding, McGee."

"What?" He blinked at her, looked down at his shirt. Dark stains were working their way along the cotton, glass cuts peeking out from between the torn holes.

He looked at them with wonder. "It doesn't even hurt."

"Not always a good thing." Ziva fumbled through her pockets, water sloshing out and leaving frost trails. "I cannot find my phone. M-must have fallen out."

McGee pulled out his, despair on his face. It was completely waterlogged. They couldn't find Tony's in his pockets.

Fear started to beat along in her chest.

No phones meant no help. And right now, all their emergency snow gear was at the bottom of the river.

Mossad training wasn't too good with snow. If this was a dessert she'd be fine. Trees, no problem.

She took a breath, two; pain arched across her chest. Mostly likely a cracked rib or two. She pushed it away.

First thing they needed to do: find shelter.

She glanced along the road; trees and hill rising up one side, water on the other.

_There. _

A slight gap through the trees.

"McGee." He was trying to stop the bleeding from his arms. "There is a p-path here. I am going to go look, it might take us to a house."

"But-"

She stood, left leg trembling a little. Ankle seemed a little weak, but no way of telling how bad. She moved towards the woods; through the black wood, she could see a definite path.

"Ziva, wait…" McGee's voice behind her, alarmed. She pushed it away.

They could not wait.

* * *

"Ziva!"

She was gone, vanishing between the trees.

Quiet. Ice scrapping together on the river surface, the crumpling sound of snow. The sky was grey, snow covered the trees; there was no colour at all.

He huddled beside Tony, trying to wring the water out of his clothes, and trying very hard to stop the thoughts lining up in his head and clamouring for attention.

First thought.

They hadn't seen a car for hours. No one was stupid enough to go out driving with a storm warning that didn't have to. That meant the chances of help just driving along were not likely.  
Just them out here, no way to get help.

The second one was more pressing.

_We shouldn't have split up._

He shouldn't have let Ziva go. First rule, you never, ever split up. She could collapse, freeze to death in some snow bank. _They_ could freeze to death while they waited.

Final one: the sky was getting darker.

He was starting to shiver. Badly. Like Sarah had when they stayed out too long in the snow when he was nine; She'd had to stay overnight in hospital. He'd been distraught, sitting out in the waiting room while his parents were taken to talk to the doctor. He knew now it had been his Mom trying to protect him from any bad news, but he'd thought he'd killed her and that they blamed him.

Sarah's nurse had seen him sitting there, tears on his cheeks. She had told him it was alright, he hadn't known; Sarah would be okay, she was only a little sick. She'd given him a book on snow survival with a penguin wearing a red scarf on the front. _Next time, you'll know the signs._

He'd read it over and over, almost obsessively until Sarah was home; then he never picked it up again.

Didn't matter. He remembered it perfectly.

**Snow's cold, and it makes your body cold, and can even freeze it!  
The first bits to freeze are your hands, feet and face. No wonder your nose gets so red!**

He tested his fingers and toes; they ached, but he could feel them a little.

Tony would not be so lucky; unconscious, he could not monitor his body temperature, or the state of his fingers.

Tim unzipped Tony's coat, yanked the arms out of their sleeves and crossed them against his chest, so his hands were wedged in his armpits. Not much, but it would help. When he zipped it up, it looked uneasily like a straight jacket.

"Bet Gibbs has wanted to put one of those on you for years, huh?"

No reply.

He huddled into a ball next to him, hands pressed into the warmth of his stomach. "Never thought I'd say this, but I much prefer you when you're talking." He looked down at him. Frost was starting to form on Tony's eyebrows and lashes.

"You're a little scary like this, Tony," he said quietly.

Tony was silent.

He shut his eyes, bunched himself up tighter; the wind rushed through his damp clothes, sucking out all warmth.

A sound on the wind; a jingle of metal, like chimes. He lifted his head, glanced across the river.

Just trees. Shadows, and endless woods. He frowned, then jumped at the crunch of sound behind him.

Ziva, staggering back along the road.

"There is a c-c-c…" she gasped for breath, then forced the words out from between chattering teeth. "C-cabin along the ridge."

"How far?"

"Ten minutes."

"You shouldn't have gone off like that—"

She was hunched forward, shaking visibly. "McGee, it is very cold. Please yell at m-me later?"

"Tony's still out."

"We will just have to drag him." Ziva grabbed an empty sleeve, and Tim clutched the other. He glanced up the trail, winding through the trees towards the top of the hill. It looked a long way indeed.

They hauled Tony towards it, his legs dragging through the snow behind them.


	4. Chapter Three

**~ Chapter Three ~**

It took them much longer than ten minutes.

The cold got worse as they dragged Tony like a dead animal up the hill. He could feel his core temperature dropping; each step was less like walking and more like balancing on pieces of wood. Twin knives sunk into his ribs for each breath, and the wind tore away the warm as it passed through his wet clothes.

He was aware of this as he walked, and of it's implications. Hypothermia would start to set in if they didn't get out of the wind.

Ziva stumbled, dropped to her knees. Her eyes had turned glassy.

"You ok-kay?"

She nodded, struggled upright. She was shivering too much to speak.

Everwhere, white and black. Blue shadows stretching in criss-crosses, until he had no idea where he was. Kept his eyes on the faint trail. _Just follow the Blue Shadow Road_. He bit down a hysterical giggle. Ziva fell onto her knees, hands; Tony flopped into the snow.

"Ziva—"

"Nearly…there." He knew the words were not meant for him. He helped her up with a hand he couldn't feel.

More steps. Mechanical motion. Felt the pistons in his legs, creak of gears and smell of metal. Tony seemed to become lighter, and the shadows lengthened to brush his feet. Light oozed out of their sides till the world was filled with colour.

He stopped, staring at the moving world.

"McGee, what..."

"Can you see that?" It circled, spun; shadows moved at the edges of the trees.

"There is n-nothing there."

He stepped forward. Shadows watching, still at his gaze.

"Tim." She tugged his arm. "Please, it's cold." He looked away. She was still holding onto Tony's wrist, lips white and hair in rat-tails. There was desperation in the way her fingers dug into his bicep.

When he turned back, the shadows were gone.

They kept walking.

* * *

By the time the cabin came into view, Tim wasn't quite sure why they were walking, or why he wasn't just lying down to sleep in the soft looking snow. Could barely even feel the cold anymore, just wanted desperately to shut his eyes.

He didn't see it till they were right at the door. It was made of the same dark wood as the trees, blending into the shadows. Small, wooden.

He tried the handle, fumbling with frozen fingers.

Locked.

He slumped down beside Tony. _Locked…_

Ziva growled, slammed a fist through the window beside it. Glass rained down by his ears, and Tony slouched back as the door opened behind him.

Once they had moved inside, Tim looked around; his heart didn't just sink, it fell out of his body entirely.

Very, very basic. Two rooms, one with an old woodstove and a threadbare rug, the other with a small wiresprung bed.

No kitchen, no bathroom.  
No phone.

They dropped Tony on the rug, rag doll arms and legs rolling in all directions. Tim shut the door, and the wind faded. His legs were quivering with exhaustion, but it was lost in the bone rattling tremors of his muscles shivering.

Across the room, Ziva's legs buckled; she wilted away onto the floor with her arms wrapped around her waist. He was interested to feel his own followed suit, and he joined them on wooden floor.

Distant pain shot down his arm, fading somewhere near his wrist.

Comfy floor. Warm…

His eyelids were made of lead, sinking down.

**Don't let yourself get too tired! **

His eyelids stilled.

**Did you know that the tops of the clouds must be below 0 degrees Celsius, or 32 degrees Fahrenheit, for it to snow?**

Yes, he did.  
The shivers weren't so bad, now. Really. Maybe he couldn't feel them.

**Did you know water is twenty seven times quicker at sucking out heat than air?**

Yep. That too.

**You _do _remember you fell in the river, right?**

...

…Oh.

He forced his eyes open. "Z-ziv…"

Nothing. She was motionless against the wooden floor. He crawled forward, shook her roughly. Her eyes slid open.

"N-need…get out of… wet clothes."

"What?..." Dullness in her voice, already falling back.

"We're gonna freeze."

Her eyes flickered. She pulled her arm away from his grip, pulled herself up.

They staggered onto their feet, looked around. No dry clothes to be found. There was a rug, a stove, a door, a box.

_Box? _

Cardboard box, in the corner. He knocked it over, stared at the contents.

Matchbox, saucepan, two mugs. Dead rat.

God, he was so tired...

"F-found s-s-… McGee!"

"H-here." Thoughts were slow and tripping over themselves. Keeping himself upright was suddenly something he had to focus on.

There was a chest near the edge of the bed; she pulled out a thin blanket, yanked another off the bed and held it out to him.

He looked at it. "Is that it?"

She pushed it into his arms. "B-better than nothing."

He gripped it weakly. Better than freezing.

He had at least enough of his faculties enough to move out of the room before he started removing clothing. It was immensely difficult removing his shoes; His fingers had stiffened, warped into red claws. Beneath his socks, his feet were grey and dead looking.

The water had soaked through everything; it oozed out from the clothes he dropped in a puddle on the floor. As he towelled off his damp skin, he had a nasty vision of one of Ducky's cadavers. Their skin had the same white, dull sheen.

Curled into the blanket, for a while all he could do was shudder. The tide of black slunk inside his head continued to advance, and he thought this was a most undignified way to die. Wrapped in a moth eaten blanket in his underwear.

But then the void stopped, foamed at the edge of awareness. Started to draw away. Thoughts started to bleed back into the numbness.

Feeling, however, was not so obliging.

He could not feel his hands and feet. The skin was still soft, but there was no reply as he pressed them. Part of him marveled at the alien feel of it, like a fake leg of flesh.

A miserable voice made him turn his head.

"I h-hate American weather."

Ziva was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wrapped in a blanket and shivering violently. "It is insanely cold and I am s-standing around in nothing but a blanket and m-my underwear. I am going b-back to Israel."

He drew the blanket closer around himself, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "Normally we d-don't go out swimming when it's like this."

"I d-do not care." She hobbled over to Tony, bending over to drag off his wet boots. "I am going somewhere warm."

He crawled over to help, and they stripped him of his wet clothes (a task which Ziva seemed to take a certain amount of vindictive pleasure in). As there was nothing else, they wrapped him tightly in the rug; Tim bundled it up around Tony's face (**most heat is lost through the head!**), then sat back.

They stared. It was a very odd picture.

"He l-looks like giant caterpillar," Ziva said, smiling with blue lips.

"Or a very ugly b-baby."

If his jaw hadn't been trembling he'd have laughed at the sight of them. Though if he wasn't so dazed, he probably wouldn't have found it funny at all.

Ziva prised open the door to the woodstove, sneezing in the cloud of soot. "There is a little wood left."

"Wait." He scrambled to the cardboard box, running his dead fingers through the junk, falling on the matches.

There were only four matches inside; they broke two just trying to light them. He held his breath as Ziva managed to get the third alight, the tiny light fluttering against her palm.

She slid it in, and the stove flickered into life.

He could have wept.

The heat was weak, and did not keep back much of the cold. But it would keep them alive, at least for a little while in the small pocket of air. Warm air, that didn't sting the lungs when it was breathed in.

Surprising, the things one can take pleasure in.


	5. Chapter Four

**~ Chapter Four ~

* * *

**

Tony became aware, over the space of a few minutes or so, that someone was making a very persistent attempt to drill into the front of his skull.

He winced, twitched his head. The throbbing faded a little, but the dull roar did not. Listening to it, he realised why; it was not in his head, instead coming from around him, broken every now and then by a sharp snap. Dull red light flickered through to the back of his eyelids.

Definitely awake now. Pain darting from his hands and feet, and there was something binding his whole body tight.

His eyes opened.

A shadow floated above him, head turned away. He stared at it, waiting for it to come into focus. Ziva, face swollen and pale.

He blinked at her, then blinked again because there was definitely something wrong with what he was seeing.

"When did we decide on a nudist party?" he slurred.

There was movement, then two blurred shapes were looking down at him.

"You okay?" McGee's voice, worried.

"Head..." He shut his eyes, opened them again. Considered the rug wrapped tightly around him. "I'm not wearing pants."

"We noticed," McGee's voice was dry. His face was puffed out like Ziva's, bruises rising along his forehead and cheek.

"What happened?"

"A deer ran out across the road. We crashed into the river."

He shook his head a little, winced. "Don't remember that."

Ziva hunched deeper into the blanket around her shoulders. "Our clothes got soaked."

"And the phones aren't working," McGee added. Tony wished they would both stop staring at him with that worried expression. He was only a little dizzy, surely.

He tried to sit up, dragging his arms free of the rug; blood sloshed around his head. His elbows decided it was a bad idea to continue the trajectory towards uprightness, buckling and slamming him back on the floor. He moaned.

"Make the room stop spinning, I'm going to be sick."

"Well, it would help if you would stop moving." Ziva peeled back his eyelids, assessing his pupils. He tried to bat her away but his arm just sort of twitched.

"Go 'way."

"How many fingers?"

He scowled up at her. "You're only allowed to use one hand when you do that."

"Do you know your name?"

"Anthony DiNozzo. Big D, little I—"

"Phone number?"

His eyes opened, then shut. The pain in his head was getting more persistent. "Got a six in it. And a three."

"Capital of Poland."

Tony snorted. "No one knows that, McGee. How about this: Spain, Madrid, Botswana, Gabarone, India, New Dehli." He paused. "Actually, Warsaw."

"Address?"

He hesitated at the creaking, uncertain answer his brain returned. "Baltimore. No. Uh… DC? DC." He decided. Ziva glanced at McGee, who threw an uneasy look towards the left side of Tony's head.

"How bad does your head hurt, Tony?" he asked quietly.

Tony tried to shake his head, but had to grit his teeth together at the crash of pain. He felt a little sick. "Gibbs has h-head slapped me harder. Don't worry about it."

Another look. They weren't fooled.

Ziva vanished for a second, then held a dirty mug to his lips.

"Drink."

The water was lukewarm; It tasted of grit and seemed to burn on the way down. He gagged, coughed. Water came up from his lungs, and he had a sudden flash of floating, Ziva's arms wrapped around his torso and ice floating above his head.

Then it was gone.

As she took the mug away he looked past them both to the room. Snow howled outside, slipping in through a broken pane in one of the windows.

Bad storm, indeed.

"Where are we?"

"Cabin." Ziva shovelled snow into the mug, putting it back on the wood stove beside a second mug and a saucepan. "It has n-not been used for a while."

His muddled brain picked up on it at last; the fear in them both, and the thing that they had been avoiding. "Is help coming?"

McGee looked out the window, fingers clutching the edge of his blanket tight. "N-no one could get to us, even if they knew where we were."

His eyes half closed. "So we're stuck."

"Yes." Ziva lay hand on his forehead. Damn, her fingers were _cold_. "You should rest, Tony. We are not going anywhere for a while."

"What 'bout you?" Eyelids were already starting to shut.

"We will keep the fire going."

He tried to force an eyelid open, but they kept lagging. Stupid concussion. He didn't want to freeze to death in his underwear, wrapped in a vomit coloured rug. What a completely depressing way to go.

_James Bond would never die in his underwear._

_The thought followed him into nothing.  
_

* * *

Tony did not stay awake for long. Whether it was from the cold or his head, his eyes shut and he fell quiet. The whole left side of his face swelling, pulling up the corner of his mouth into a smirk.

McGee adjusted the rug around his head. "He's still too cold."

Ziva frowned, touching his pulse. McGee glanced at the fire; it was too weak to do more than keep the wall of cold at bay.

As he looked back, he started. Ziva had lain down beside Tony. "Uh, Ziva…"

She wriggled closer. "B-body heat, yes? I believe this is the method suggested in your American movies." Her eyes narrowed. "Or is it just a ploy to increase body contact between the two protagonists?"

"Bit of both, really." Tim hesitated, then crouched down on Tony's other side. The rug was damp, and he could feel him shivering under it. Blood was oozing through from some hidden wound.

"This is supposed to w-work better if it's bare skin."

He winced even as he said it. What on_ earth_ did he say that for?

Ziva's head lifted, and she smirked. "Do you wish to have your bare skin against Tony, McGee?"

"No. I'm cold, my internal gag's not working properly."

She laughed. "I have already done it once. I think have fulfilled my quota of being naked against Tony."

He frowned, then remembered. When they were undercover as assassins. At least, he really hoped that was what she was thinking of. He would have give a lot for a hotel room right now…

They fell silent, listening to the roar of snow outside and the fire spluttering against the cold. He found himself moving closer to Tony's dull warmth, pulling the blanket over his ears. Ziva had her face pressed into Tony's shoulder, shuddering.

As parts of him heated up, he kept finding things he didn't know where there. The sting of glass cuts along his back and arms, bruises on his arms. From here, he could see the colour rise on Ziva's increasingly impressive black eye.

But they were alive.

For how long, that was not so clear. He found himself getting irritated that Tony got the chance to sleep through their imminent death.  
Some people had all the luck.

Tony warmed slowly, and the shivering faded. But as he did, the fire began to die.

The little wood in the stove was devoured; they scoured the two rooms for twigs, loose floorboards, anything that would burn. In the second room, Ziva found a wooden chest hidden underneath the bed.

"What about this?" She opened it, peered inside. Dust bunnies and dead spiders.

McGee shook his head. "We can't burn that, it's not ours."

"But—"

"For all we know it's some family heirloom."

She frowned. "Then what is it doing in a cabin in the woods?"

"Ziva, we can't." His voice was firm. "It's not right."

She sighed, shoved it back underneath.

They tried burning whatever it was that was inside the mattress, but it let off a weird chemical smell that made them dizzy. The fire sunk lower, and Ziva kept glancing back towards the room.

"McGee…"

"What about outside?" He said desperately. "W-we could go get some wood—"

She looked at him, and her expression was not unkind. "It is snowing outside, Tim."

He sighed.

Ziva smiled, scampered into the room. He winced at the sound of her smashing the chest. "We really should pay them for that," he called.

Ziva carried the pulverised chest back in, added a wedge to the fire. It flickered from a dull red to a more healthy yellow. "I will buy them a new one."

McGee looked at the old wood. "It looks handmade."

"Then I will ask Gibbs to show me how to make one." Fire burning a little brighter, she rubbed her hands together. "I still cannot feel my fingers."

McGee reached over, examined her white hands. "You're not supposed to rub it."

"Why not?"

"It damages the tissue." He gripped the saucepan of melted snow, now warmish water. "Here. This will heat it slowly."

She looked at it dubiously, then dipped her hands in the water. "I do not feel anything."

He took the last mug off the top of the stove. "You will."

Even though he knew there would be nothing, he gritted his teeth as he stuck his fingers into the water. Nothing.

They stuck Tony's fingers into the remaining mug. He did not stir. Crouched by the dying fire, they kept it alive through tiny meals of the wooden chest. Outside the snowstorm raged on, relentless.

Tim had never been so tired in his life. Or cold. But he could not sleep, because there was no knowing if he'd wake up.

Then it started.

Sparks along his fingers, like pins and needles. A dull burning, a throbbing deep in his bones. He bit the inside of his cheek, glanced across to Ziva. Her head was bowed, face pale and rigid.

Feeling clawed its way painfully into his fingers. But it didn't stop. Soon it was like having his hands in acid, bones shattering inside his skin. He gasped, fought the urge to yank his fingers away.

"McGee…"

He fought to look up. Ziva was watching him with one red rimmed eye.

"Is it…" She swallowed. "Is it supposed to hurt this much?"

"I don't know. I knew it hurt, but…" He pressed his teeth together as pain shot up his arm.

Tony twitched, but did not wake. Tim wished he could be so lucky.

Ziva's eyes had shut, head turned away. They stayed that way, so she could not see what he did. The light was starting to fade.

Night was coming.

And with the night, the temperature would fall.


	6. Chapter Five

**~ Chapter Five ~

* * *

**

Tony woke as the light was fading, turning a dull blue that seemed to cling to the walls. The snow storm outside had softened to an eternal moan, still drifting through the broken window to cover the floor

Pain throbbed from his temples to the centre of his forehead, but he could think a little clearer than before. He was steady enough at least to sit upright and kick himself free of his cocoon.

The other two were sitting near his feet, huddled into the blankets. McGee's eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing. Ziva's gaze was dull as she looked at him. "Fire is d-dying down."

Tony stoked the dying red vigorously; it spluttered, flared only briefly. "Any more wood?"

Her eyes drifted shut. "No."

"Could try outside, but wood's gonna be too damp to burn." Tony glanced around, spied the cardboard box. It didn't burn for long, letting out hardly any heat. The red glow slunk a little lower.

Tony watched it, uneasy. "What do we do when it burns out?"

He got no reply.

Alarmed, he nudged them. Ziva blinked at the hand on her arm, but lost interest quickly. McGee did not stir at all, staring blankly ahead.

In each case, the skin he touched was shockingly cold.

He looked between them, heart sinking. "Oh boy."

Someone upstairs must have been listening, because the fire chose that moment to flicker out.

"Fantastic." Tony muttered, then set his jaw. Hell if he was going to freeze to death out here. Gibbs's head slap his corpse so hard he'd feel it in the next life, for one thing. They were going to live, if he had to do it all himself.

He shook McGee hard, flicked him on the ear. "Time to wake up."

McGee's head twitched up. "Wha…?"

"The fire's burnt out. We need to do something about not freezing." He shook Ziva, who blinked at him with empty eyes.

McGee thought about it for a long time, then hesitated. "Well, there is the bed…"

Tony dragged them both upright. "That'll do."

"But—"

"It is very small," Ziva slurred, stumbling a little.

Tony was hopping from foot to foot. "Don't care. My feet are starting to freeze again." Without the fire, the temperature was falling rapidly. His chest felt tight, and the shivers were back as the cold swallowed the little bubble of heat from the fire. The only sign it had been lit at all was the faintest glow behind the grill.

They would not survive a night out in this room, that was for sure. He dragged them into the side room, then stared.

It was a _very_ small bed.

McGee eyed it, shivering. "Who gets the middle?"

"Ziva," Tony said quickly.

Her eyes were drooping. "Fine with me."

McGee looked at Tony unsteadily. "We should, uh…" he had to think about it. "…bring in some wood. It might dry overnight."

"Why didn't you do that before?"

Eyes blinked at him. No light in them at all. "Snowing before."

"I'll go. You two get in."

McGee somehow managed to make himself blush through the hypothermia. "But—" He looked again at the little bed.

Ziva's brow wrinkled at him. "It did not bother you before."

"There was a rug before," he muttered.

Tony looked between them. "What?'

McGee rubbed a frostnipped ear. "You got a little cold."

Tony glanced at Ziva, who shrugged.

"Middle of a Probie sandwich, huh?" He cocked his head. "Interesting."

Ziva let out an irritated noise. "Tim, it is simple. Get in the bed or freeze to death."

"Not really an offer you should refuse, McBashful." Tony said it without bite, nudging him gently towards the bed. "I'll be right back."

He dragged himself towards the front door, leaving McGee with a look that was faintly panicked.

Snow had built up a little around the door; he shoved it open, gasping at the wave of cold that rammed into his chest. He could barely see through the swirling white.

Where on earth was he supposed to find wood in this?

He took a few steps out; the snow buzzed around his face, searing the skin. He stumbled, nearly fell; a fallen branch smacked into his elbow.

"You'll do." The sound was whipped away. He gripped it with numb fingers, disoriented for a second; the house had vanished in the wall of white. He peered around, dazed, then saw a faint shadow. He took a step, reached out. He found a wall he could not see, and worked his way back towards the door, dragging the wood behind.

By the time he had shut the door behind him, he was shaking violently and struggling to breathe. He wanted to curl up and clutch at the awful pain in his chest. But to do so would be to die.

Ziva had crawled onto the bed and was trying to persuade McGee to follow. "Try not to think about it."

"Like white bears," he muttered.

Tony locked the door. "What?"

"It's like the more you try not to think about white bears, you think about white bears."

"Why are we thinking of white bears?" Ziva asked, puzzled.

McGee swallowed, sidled up to the side of the bed. She scooted over and obligingly looked away to Tony as he removed his blanket.

Tony smirked at her. "You know what this reminds me off? It's just like when we were undercover."

She moved over as McGee bundled in beside her. "The bed was bigger then."

"Plus McGee wasn't in it. Man,_ that_ would have been awkward to act out…" He shut the door to the other room, locked all the windows. No point to it, really; the cold was insidious, and would easily seep in through the locks, the glass, the blinds on the windows. But he pulled them shut anyway, because there was something about the endless moaning white that made him nervous.

It went from half-light to complete darkness. Blind, he fumbled his way back to the bed, following the slurred conversation of his two coworkers.

"Move over."

"If I move over, there's no b-bed. Or there is a bed, I'm just not in it."

A yelp. "Your feet are freezing!"

"I didn't feel anything. Are you sure they were my feet?"

"I do not think they were mine. Though I might have to check, I have n-not felt them for a while."

"No really, I love sharing a bed with two confused ice cubes," Tony muttered to himself, tossing the rug over the bed

"Ow," it said.

He clambered underneath the three layers onto the mattress; it groaned under his weight as he tried to get comfy. That battle was long lost; wires poked into his back, and the blankets were scratchy and damp and smelt like dead animal. The bed was no better, for the wires sank in the middle; if he rolled over too far he found himself face to face with a very cold and slightly dazed Mossad assassin.

"Oops," he wriggled back, then nearly fell out of the bed. "Red light situation."

"I think we have g-gone way passed red light, Tony." She slid away to give him more room, backing into McGee.

"Do you think we'll be able to use this as an excuse f-for not attending the next team building day?"

McGee gripped onto the mattress tight, fighting gravity on the far side. "This is way more t-team building than I ever wanted to do."

"I would not mind so much if perhaps the bed was slightly bigger."

"I know what would make _me_ not mind so much... Ow! I was going to say another blanket actually, McGee, but thanks for coming to a completely unfounded conclusion. Dirty minded freak. Hey Ziva, bet you wish I was Fozzie Bear now, huh?"

She laughed through chattering teeth. "You are plenty hairy as you are."

"Only difference is the hair'd be orange."

"Hey McGee," Tony's voice was malevolent. "Wanna snuggle?"

"Tony, if you do not shut up I will p-push you out of the bed."

He scoffed. "Liar. You'd get cold."

He kept them talking as long as he could, trying to warm them up before they fell asleep and their body temperature would drop. But he could not do it for long; they were beyond exhaustion.

Ziva fell silent first; McGee's replies became so indistinct that in the end Tony left him alone, and he fell asleep almost instantly. It had been sheer willpower rather than anything else that had kept them awake as much as they had been.

He was left awake, listening to the wind outside. Time to think of McGee's white bears. Knew all that talk was to hide their embarrassment and fear. Crammed together in a bed in only their underwear to stop the cold, to cheat death, for the small chance they may save themselves.

He reached out and pulled the blankets over their heads to complete the barrier, curling up in the dark beneath it.

* * *

He kept waking through the night. It was only a small bed after all, and there was very little space to move without moving into someone else.

The first time, he woke as Ziva nudged him off her arm.

The second was the dull thud of McGee half falling out of bed.

The third time, Ziva started snoring right by his ear. He had rolled her onto her side (or more specifically, onto McGee's side).

The fourth time... that was less clear.

* * *

Complete silence.

The storm had passed over.

The pain in his head had faded, so it was not that which had woken him. Nor was it the cold; they had huddled close during the night, all knotted together under the blankets in a bubble of stale air that was almost warm. He frowned, listening. The only sounds were Ziva's breathing, McGee shifting in his sleep.

He lifted his head a little, out from the cocoon for a gulp of fresh air; the icy air gnawed at his cheeks and frosted inside his lungs.

Then he froze.

Outside the window, there was a soft crunch. The sound of a foot sinking through fresh snow.

His heart was suddenly awake, alive in his chest; muscles tensed, and warmth shot through his skin in the wake of the adrenalin.

Silence. Went on for so long he wondered if he had just imagined it.

Then, the sound of someone stepping back. Fighting to hear above his own panicked heartbeats, he heard the footsteps move around the outside to stop by the front door.

He didn't have a gun. Knife. He didn't even have shoes. They were practically defenceless.

The door knob jiggled.

Locked.

Tony could breath a little. But if they saw the window…

He heard the lock turn again, then a creak as someone pressed their shoulder against door.

"Ziva." He muttered, shaking her a little.

She did not wake.

A bark through the silence. Tony flinched.

Again; a crunch as they stepped back, away from the door.

The steps faded away.

And though he listened for a very long time, he did not hear them again.


	7. Chapter Six

_A/N: Sorry for the delay – Someone had plagiarized this and I wasn't about to update if she was just going to steal it. Gigantic thanks to Hobbit Killer for the heads up and to Emerald1 for unleashing the horde. If it ever happens to you, remember - there are plenty of people ready to help. :)_

**_~ Chapter Six ~_**

_

* * *

_

As his car followed the snowplough, he couldn't help but marvel.

_Hell of a morning,_ thought the Sheriff.

With all that white light, it was like driving around the inside of a freezer. So clean and smooth and deceptive. It had been a pretty bad night by all accounts, but most of the damage he'd seen so far was superficial.

He turned his car off the road at the gas station, letting the plough trundle on ahead. The attendant, Don Elliot, was stamping around the pumps in a thick parker and brushing off the snow with gloved hands. He turned at the car pulling up beside him, then grinned.

"You're out early!"

"So are you!" The Sheriff got out of the car, skidded a little on a patch of ice.

"Wanted to see if there was any damage." Elliot knocked the ice off the front of the pumps. "Been lucky."

The Sheriff was cut off by a dull bark. He smiled at the wolfhound driving through the snow like an icebreaker.

"Bambi sleep through the storm?"

"Yeah. She's a real wuss of a hunting dog."

Bambi sniffed him all over, then continued to the squad car.

"She won't like this afternoon, they've forecast another storm." The Sheriff shook his head a little, looked off over the hills. With the clouds the way they were, it was going to be worse than last night. "You seen a car come through here sometime yesterday? Washington plates?"

Elliot looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Three feds went missing sometime yesterday."

He thought about it, then shrugged. "There's been no cars along here since early yesterday mornin'."

The Sheriff sighed. "Last contact with them was late in the afternoon. Dang. If you find anything or remember anything…"

Elliot was only half listening. "Call the sheriff. Got it."

He sighed again, started back to the car. "More'n likely I'll be finding their dead bodies in a ditch somewhere." He hesitated, turned back. "Though if you see a grouchy looking guy with a marine haircut, don't tell him I said that."

"Yep. Good luck with the search."

The Sheriff pulled out of the station, continued along the road. Ice was already forming in the plough's wake.

Elliot continued dislodging the snow until he was long out of sight. Then he whistled low, his dog jumping upright and following him back into the store.

Not long after he came out again, shutting and locking the door. With one hand he propped up a sign on the window that said CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER.

In the other he held a rifle.

* * *

Tim didn't remember falling asleep; but he must have done, because then it was morning and he was jabbed hard in the stomach.

"Mmph?" He tried to open his eyes, but his face seemed to have rearranged itself during the night and they weren't where he'd left them.

"Sorry," Ziva whispered, sliding over him off the bed. He heard the creak of wood as she stepped onto the floor, followed by the whisper of the door opening. The room was still dark, harsh light glaring through narrow slits in the curtains to slice up the walls.

He shut his eyes tight and edged into the warm spot she'd left, trying to keep his mind blank so he could return to sleep.

No such luck. The memories didn't exactly flood back, but they made themselves aware through the throbbing in his hands and feet. He flexed them, hissing at the sharp pain shooting along his skin.

Better he could feel them he knew, but they _hurt._

He took a rough assessment. Sharp stinging along his back, a stiffening in his ankle and knee. Not so bad, though he probably wouldn't be able to walk properly for a while. Lucky for them all Tony had been going fairly slowly down the road, otherwise they'd probably still be at the bottom of the river.

The front door shut; Ziva limped back into the room. He moved over, wincing at the sight of her swollen feet as she swung them onto the bed. Looking at his own fingers he could see a matching set of clear bubbles on his red and puckered skin.

She wriggled under the blankets. "The clothes are still damp. I restarted the fire, but there is not much we can do until they are dry."

"We could sleep some more."

She smiled. "That is an excellent idea."

They fell quiet, and McGee thought perhaps that the experience was not so bad; even with the falling out of bed and Ziva's rather loose understanding of the idea of personal space. His thoughts started to fog up, and there was the feeling of drifting…

"Ziva, you look absolutely _terrible _this morning," a voice breathed in his ear.

He peeled open an eye. "I'm trying to sleep."

Tony yawned, stretched. "Ouch. Rise and shine, sleepyheads, it's a beautiful freakin' cold day out there."

"We dragged you up a hill yesterday," Ziva said sleepily. "You could at least let us sleep in."

"I stopped you two freezing to death. Call us even."

"By a very Tony method, I noticed."

"At Hotel DiNozzo we have a very special way of doing things," he said cheerfully. "How is everyone? Fingers and toes in the appropriate places?" He recoiled as he spotted Tim's splayed hand. "Urgh." He pinched a finger tip.

"Ow!"

"How does that feel?"

"Painful." Tim yanked his hand back.

"What about everything else?"

"Tony, I'm_ fine_."

"Well, you're certainly less of a blue McGoo that yesterday." Tony reached over to peer at Ziva's feet, prodding the toes. One eye opened a slit and glared at him.

He backed away. "Well, the Mossad is all there. Though when we get back they really need to check you guys out, it still looks pretty nasty."

"What about you?"

Tony waved his digits at them; his hands were if anything worse then theirs, purpled at the tip and fat like a glove. But his feet were hardly blistered at all.

Tim stared. "How the hell…?"

Tony smirked through his swollen face. "Three words for you: waterproof socks."

"That's two words."

"Three words and a hyphen?"

"No. Just two words."

"Huh." He looked puzzled for a moment. His eyes seemed unfocussed.

"How's your head?" Tim ventured.

"Fine, fine." He waved his hand. "Just a bit of a headache."

Out of the corner of his eye Tim saw Ziva's eyes open, flick to Tony.

"You sure? Hit your head pretty—what?"

Tony's head had snapped towards the window. "There was someone outside. During the night."

Ziva's eyes opened fully. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He scrambled up, yanked opened the window and peered out.

She sat up, frowning. "I did not see any tracks when I went outside. Did they simply look in the window?"

"They tried to get in, but the door was locked." Tony pulled his head back in. "No footprints."

Tim hesitated. "Maybe someone saw us walking up…"

Ziva shook her head. "Then why did they not try to help us then?"

There was a moment of quiet while they considered the information.

Tim didn't particularly feel like sleeping anymore.

* * *

Tony grabbed the rug and moved out into the other room, an agitated look on his face. They stayed, trying to separate the tangled blankets.

She paused at his quiet gasp. "What?"

"Ziva, you've got blood…"

She looked down, touched her side. Dark brown was crusted across the ribs and hip on her left side.

"Does it hurt?"

"No…" Her eyes narrowed.  
Then she wrenched off the blankets. He yelped at the sudden cold.

"Ziva!"

She shushed him. "McGee, look."

Her finger was pointing across him to the other side of the bed. He turned to look. Then his chest tightened.

Black patches like scabs, all up and down the mattress.

_Tony._

The wound in his side must have kept bleeding during the night. Looking down at himself, McGee could even see parts of it on him through secondary transfer.

A lot. Enough to make him alarmed.

Ziva had already yanked one of the blankets around herself, and he scrambled to follow.

"Tony."

"Hmm?" He was stoking the fire, the rug covering any sign of the wound.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Head barely hurts anymore."

"Tony—"

"I'm fine." His tone much sharper.

Ziva opened her mouth to argue, but McGee gripped her by the elbow.

"Don't."

"But—"

"If that's what he thinks we need to hear," he said quietly.

He felt her hesitate. No doubt Tony thought there was no point, because there was nothing to be done. Like Ziva had not said a word of her swollen wrist, and he had not mentioned the glass cuts across his back.

Because there was nothing they could do. They could only watch him sway and eyes skitter.

Ziva's mouth shut, and she said nothing.

* * *

There were only a few bits of wood that were able to burn. They huddled around it, trying to work out what to do.

"I'm starving," Tony groaned.

Ziva yawned. "There is always the dead rat."

"I would rather eat my own hand."

"We could go out and try and find something..."

"Not a good idea," McGee shivered into the blanket. He was rubbing the phone between the fabric, brushing off the ice crystals. _Come on, come on..._

"…or we can wait here until someone finds us."

"We're lost in the woods. They won't know where to look." Tony shook his head, then winced.

McGee looked sidelong at Ziva, who shook her head a little.

"Yes!" McGee grinned as the phone gurgled into life.

"No reception."

"Of course."

"We must be stuck in a shadow." He held it up, but nothing changed. "We'll have to go to the top of the hill, or maybe the road."

Tony looked down at their blistered feet. "Guess that's my job for today. Abby can backtrace it and bring in a car." His eyes went misty. "Oh, a car. With heating. And seats."

"Tony, I do not think you should go outside alone."

He scowled at her. "How many different ways can I say I'm fine?"

"Once more and I might actually believe you," Ziva retorted. "What about the person you thought you heard outside?"

"It's fairly hard to sneak up on someone in the snow, ya know. It'll take me two minutes."

"No."

"Fine." He crossed his arms. "How well do you think you two can walk?"

They glanced at each other.

"Hmm?" Tony raised his eyebrows.

Tim got to his feet unsteadily, took a few steps. It was like standing on burning coals. "It's not that bad."

"Sit down, Timmy." Tony took pity on him, pulled him onto the floor. "Your eyes are screaming."

Ziva stood a little shakily, then walked to the door and back. "Easy."

"Really." Tony considered the floor.

They looked down. She'd left bloody footprints across the wood.

"You're both going to shred your feet," he said with a shrug and the slight smile of someone who knew they'd won.

By mid morning, enough of the clothes had dried out to make one full outfit, and Tony had worn Ziva down. He went through the pile of clothes gleefully.

"Ziva, thermal underwear!" He held it up. "Nice."

"You will be too big," she warned.

"We'll see."

That they certainly did.

"Ha! Told you they'd stretch," he crowed.

Ziva was laughing too hard to reply. McGee had covered his eyes.

He ended up with McGee's trousers and shirt, Ziva's coat pinched over the top and all three pairs of socks, though only two had gone to his feet. He was kind of glad there was no mirror; oversized outfit and tiny coat did not a dashing picture make.

He observed Ziva and McGee, both still wrapped in blankets and looking faintly amused.

"I feel over dressed," he said.

"You won't outside."

He considered the pile by the fire. "Maybe I should take another coat."

"They are both too damp. Just be quick," Ziva told him, zipping the coat up to his chin. "If you are not back in twenty minutes, we are coming after you."

"Are you going to tell with your magic unwaterlogged watch?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I shall count."

He opened the door, shuddered. "I'll be back soon." He was half closed the door, then gave them a disapproving look. "You two better not get up to any hanky panky while I'm gone."

Ziva's eyes narrowed.

"Right right right." He stepped outside, shut the door. He hadn't realised how much their body heat had warmed the inside the cabin; it was like being slammed in the face.

"Better be quick." He shuffled off the porch, then gave the door a dark look. "Bad stuff happens when people are standing around in their underwear."

The snow was about three feet deep; if anyone had been watching them, they'd left no trace of it that he could see.

The top of the hill was in fog above him, and was a good a place to start as any.

* * *

The snowfall was light for the moment, drifting down to sizzle on his skin. He walked slowly, his sock-for-mittens failing against the cold. It didn't take long for him to start shivering.

At the top of the rise he looked back. He thought he'd been staying relatively straight, but his steps meandered all over the place like he was drunk. "All I need to do is sing ninety-nine bottles of beer and it's just like college," he said to himself.

From here, he could see the bend in the road; slush had collected on the surface of the water. There was no sign they had left it violently, or of the car beneath the water. Had they still been in it, chances were their bodies wouldn't have been found for quite a while.

He shivered a little, checked the phone.

No signal.

He kept climbing.

* * *

Tim remained huddled in his blanket, nodding by the spluttering fire. Ziva had retreated back to the bed, and he was in half a mind to go too; though right now he'd rather be cold than risk serious injury by asking her.

He stared at the wood spread out before the fire. Damp, green and useless. They were out of matches; if the fire went out this time, it was out for good.

"We're running out of wood again."

From the other room, Ziva's voice was amused. "Do you wish me to destroy more of this property?"

"Since you're awake…"

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of wood splintering. He winced.

"McGee."

"What?"

When she didn't answer, he heaved himself to his feet.

"Ow, ow, ow," he muttered to himself, limping into the other room. Ziva was on her knees, staring down into a dark hole in the floor.

"What's that?"

"There is a loose floorboard." She reached a hand into the whole, pulled up a dusty drawstring bag. "I think I just found some child's buried treasure," she said a little guiltily.

He took it from her hand, tipped it onto the floor. A small pile of old coins skittered around their knees.

"I wonder how long they've been here...?"

He picked one up, examined it. "1854." He frowned.

"Civil War?"

"Actually, it's before the Civil War."

"Rare." She considered. He could see the thought flicker across her face. _Therefore expensive._ She looked over the pile, picked another out. "This one is not as old. 1933. Great Depression." She smiled.

His head shot up. "What?"

"Am I wrong?"

He stared at the coin. A golden eagle flickered with the light.

"No. That's impossible." His hand was trembling as he touched it with a finger. "Ziva, one of these sold for seven million dollars in auction."

Her eyes widened. "A _coin_ sold for that much?"

He nodded. His chest was suddenly tight and he was glad they were sitting down. "After my book, I got into rare books and coins as an investment. I just read about this in passing."

She looked uneasy. "It might not be real."

"Then why is it hidden under a cabin in the middle of nowhere?"

She considered the coin shining between her fingers. Then her jaw tightened.

"We need to get out."

* * *

Signal.

He stopped, stared at the phone through blurry eyes. Only one bar, but it would be enough.

"Oh, thank god." He fumbled for speed dial. "Hold on, fresh pair of socks, Tony's comin'--"

He had been right, about no-one sneaking up on him in the snow. He also should have considered that the idea also extended to him as well. He had been heard a long time before he had come into view, and they had plenty of time to prepare. Where he stood was barely ten steps away, and he never saw it coming.

Arm yanked around the neck, phone flying as he grabbed for his throat, back arched back and almost lifted off the ground. All in less than a second.

Unconsciousness follows compression of the carotid arteries by seven seconds. Tony had time to notice that the man behind him was big, tall, and smelt of dog; then seven seconds were up and he slumped.

The man loosened his grip, dropped him with a thud.

He stayed down.


	8. Chapter Seven

**~ Chapter 7 ~**

* * *

They wasted no time.

"Where are we going?" McGee was struggling into Tony's shirt, wet fabric sticking to his skin.

She dragged on her shirt, pants, ignoring their dampness and the fact McGee could see her. "What we should have done. We are going with Tony and waiting for Gibbs to find us." She rolled up the sleeves of Tony's coat, but it was still miles too big.

"Here." McGee handed her his, and they swapped. His coat was a slightly better fit, and she buttoned it up while McGee struggled into his trousers. "Do you really think we're in that much danger?"

"I do not like expensive hidden things. You read all those detective novels; no good ever comes from it, yes?" The thought of all that wealth lying beneath the cabin made her feel ill; there was no safety while it remained there.

"Well…" He paused. "D'you hear that?"

She stiffened, but she could only hear her heart thumping against her ribs and the wind starting to pick up outside. "It is nothing. Come on."

"Tony isn't my size." He struggled with the zip. "Stupid Armani—"

_"Hello?"_

They froze.

A man's voice.  
But not Tony's.

Barely enough time for them to exchange a glance before the door opened wide. They flinched away at the bleaching light, blinking at the shadow in the doorway.

A short man built like a breadroll, binoculars dangling around his neck, looking at them in surprise. They gaped at him.

"I thought I heard voices!" He stopped and stared. "Wow, what happened to you two?"

"Who are you?" Ziva stuttered.

"Wayne. I was just…" He started at them in amazement. "How the hell did you get up here? Snow's like a foot deep!"

"Uh..." Bewildered, she glanced at McGee

"Our car went off the road into the river," he said after a moment's hesitation. "We spent the night here."

The man whistled. "Wow. You could sell that story to the paper. Y'all alright?"

"A bit bruised. Could have been worse."

"I'll say. Roads around here are murder in the Winter." He winced. "Sorry, poor choice of words. I can take you back to my place for a phone and that if you want; it's a few hours hike, but better than staying up here, right?" He grinned at them. The smile McGee returned was uncertain.

Ziva considered. She did not trust this man, to turn up so conveniently, but he did not seem intent on hurting them, and she was quite happy to leave and get as far away as possible from the drawstring bag beneath the floor.

"We have to wait, our friend has gone up the hill to see if he could phone…"

"Ah, that explains the tracks I followed." He nodded to himself. "We can meet up with him. Ain't hard to follow tracks like that."

She glanced sidelong at McGee. He shrugged imperceptibly, then bent down to grab his shoes. She followed, keeping the man in view.

McGee glanced up at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, I think we messed up your cabin."

He waved a hand. "Oh, it's not mine. This is Don Elliot's place, he hasn't been here in months. Don't think he'll care…" He wandered across the room, nudged the dead rat with his foot before moving towards the bedroom. Ziva followed his path with her one good eye.

_He is looking for something. _

Moving around casually, swinging the binoculars around his hand. Acting as if interested to see inside a mysterious neighbours hunting cabin. She turned away, carefully pulling on her boot. The coins were back under the floor, wood pressed firmly into place. His riches were safe.

McGee still struggling with his shoes, face creased with pain. "Wish I hadn't given Tony my socks," he muttered.

"I am sure the leaking blood will keep your feet warm," she said dryly, zipping up her boots and feeling the leather split open blisters.

"Where's the chest?"

A shiver sparked down her back. McGee's eyes looked passed her, skin blanching.

She turned. Wayne was standing in the doorway, and he was no longer smiling.

"Ah…"

_"Where's the goddam chest."_

They were frozen. Words coiled in her chest. She stiffened, trying to stop her eyes darting towards the fire, but he saw the head movement. The man's eyes narrowed. His gaze shifted, landing glowing wood oven.

"No. No, no, no…" The blood drained from his cheeks, and he looked ill. "Tell me you didn't."

Ziva couldn't speak. Not in the face of such horror, the white rage building behind his eyes

McGee tried to stand. "I'm sorry, we—"

Shocking a man so plump could move so fast. No time to react.

He was suddenly right there, arm swinging to bring the heavy binocular base down onto McGee's skull.

* * *

Ice was forming inside his head. Could feel the shards slicing into his brain as his head moved. Parts of his skin stuck to the snow as he turned his head.

_What?...How did...wait. Phone. Where's the phone? There, black shadow. There. Move, move... why can't I?..._

His body twitched, shuddered.

_Hands are tied. Yes. Hands and feet. Tied like a deer. 'Cept all at the back. Raccoon, maybe…_

A man. That's right. Must have been him at the window. Damn rude to sneak up on him like that.

God, his head…

* * *

Tim fell.

Mouth filled with blood, static in his eyes. Too dazed to even cry out at the kicks to his abdomen, the shrieking rampage battering against his face.

"You bastards! I'll kill you, I'll tear your eyes out you sonofabitch—"

Heard Ziva shout, sounds of blows that were not on him. He curled, heard the thud as she was thrown into the wall. They were both stiff and cold and he was _so fast-_-

Feet around him, unknown foot sinking into his abdomen to make him curl.

_Tony, we need help…_

The crunch of ice, light slipping along the walls. His eyes opened and saw the silhouette in the doorway.

Then came the gunshot. The sound filling the room, a cry of pain lost in the echo. Silence in it's wake.

He felt his eyes moving between them, the roar in his head getting louder. Two of them, there were two—

_Tony..._

A hand got him by the collar, threw him against the wall. Smell of blood, a hand gripping him by the arm to hold him upright as black swarmed across his eyes.

"Stay down," a new voice snarled. The snap of a gun reloading, heard him turn away.

"Don-"

"Are you completely retarded? I said get them out quietly, not start a goddam brawl!"

"They burnt the chest!"

"They what?"

A voice that was almost sobbing. "I told you we shouldn't have left it out here, I told you!"

Warmth on his shoulder. Weird. His head lifted, rocked to the left; Ziva beside him, hand clutched over her arm. Blood oozed through the cracks of her fingers, running down his arm to tap against the wood.

Footsteps.

"What the _hell_ are you doing in my cabin."

Very close. that cold voice. He lifted his head, saw a dark shadow above him.

"We were lost." It came out drowsy; he could feel the blood pulse in his face.

"Their car went off the road."

The man stared at them both for a moment. His eyes were pale, grey, like the underbelly of a snow cloud. Then he turned, moved into the other room.

"Ziva…"

Her right hand gripped his wrist, silencing him.

Don Elliot came back, stuffing the bag of coins down his vest.

"Man, this is such a mess-" That mad rage had fallen away, and Wayne's voice was starting to tremble.

"No. Before we had a mess. Now we have witnesses. Shut up and let me think."

Tim breathed in through his nose, for blood was filling his mouth and it felt like he was going to choke. There was the heavy smell of dog in the air. Tim made his eyes open, saw it watch them from the door; ears back against its skull and mouth pulled wide to show yellow teeth. At the sight blood thumped louder, swarming sound in his ears, buzzing into his eyes.

_"McGee!"_

Felt her turn, but his eyes shut against the roar, and—

* * *

_Move. Move._

Fingers twitch.

Arm starts to slide out from under the rope.

_Come on!_

* * *

"We can fix it," Elliot said at last. A lie; the situation was irreparable. But he could slow it down, give them time to get out.

Wayne looked at him, face hopeful. God, stupid Wayne. His idiot cousin who never learnt to control his temper, and once again they were up the creek.

Looked across at the two carbuncles, the festering piles of inconvenience. Man slumped against the wall, eyes shut and half conscious. Woman with a bloody hand against her arm, eyes darting between them. The other one, tied up and unconscious in the snow.

They would be cops. With his luck, he was surprised they hadn't managed to destroy the coins as well.

He pushed away the fury that made him want to shoot them right there. Rash acts solved nothing, as Wayne was always eager to demonstrate.

Well then. That left logic, something Don Elliot was very good at.

Far too late to get them out, even from the moment Wayne told him of seeing them make their way to the cabin. The snow had stopped him, and his first plan of leaving them be, to die naturally or be found, came into being. But that had failed, and the second plan to remove them before they found anything followed not long after, even though he stopped the other one from using his phone.

Only one option left to him, now.

* * *

Ziva swallowed once, twice. She was feeling light headed, and nausea was starting to hit.

But far worse than that, she could see the man Don Elliot had reached a decision, and by the darkening of his eye it was not a nice one. But they were trapped; there was a gun between them and the door, two fit men. And McGee...

She squeezed his limp wrist, whispered his name. His head twitched.

"Tim."

His head lifted, turned to her unsteadily.

"Are you...?" Words failed, because everything she wanted to ask he was quite clearly not.

He forced the word from his swelling lips. "P-peachy."

The taller man – Elliot – came across the room. His hand lifted, the cradled gun lifting to rest against the hollow on her neck. She went still, feeling her pulse beat against the cold metal.

He reached down, yanked McGee's jacket off her shoulder and examined the hole. She flinched as his fingers moved around the back of her arm, looking for an exit wound she knew he wouldn't find.

"Shouldn't have done that," he said quietly to himself. He looked over McGee, seemed satisfied. "Go get the other one, bring him back here," he said to Wayne.

Wayne looked uneasy. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing your mistake." Elliot motioned her to get up.

She didn't move. She could feel herself trembling.

His eyes were cold. "Move, or I will make you move."

Apparently she was not fast enough, because he hauled her upright and dragged her to the door.

"Ziva…" McGee, calling after her weakly.

No time for tricks. She was thrown out the door, heard it slam as she landed deep in the snow. She was not fast enough to rise, nor to escape the raining blow. Even though she knew it was coming.

* * *

Tim heard the sound from outside. The sound of struggling, Ziva's cry of pain. Then quiet.

His heart was wrenching in his chest, fear leaving him without breath. Wayne dragged him into the other room, belted him to the legs of the bed, arms locked at his sides. He struggled, feeling the pressure building in his face. Wayne put his foot against Tim's ribs, pressing down until the pain caused him to pass out.

His last thought was one of despair. That after all this, they would be killed by people.

* * *

Even as he at least wrenched one arm free, Tony could hear him coming. The sound of crunching snow, grinding flat under boots. He dragged himself one armed through the snow, towards the black shadow. All he needed was one number, one press of the button. Just one...

A shape come over the rise as he fumbled for the phone, brought it close to his blurry eyes.

Broken across the face, the screen dark.

He stared at it, and all the air went from his lungs. _No..._

He never saw the foot swing, though he sure felt the metal toe to the ribs. Like a harpoon through the side as ribs split; sudden darkness.

When it lifted, he was moving though without choice.

There were hands around his ankles, pulling him through the snow. He lifted his head, saw a great white furry back. He tried to struggle, but his one free arm could only claw at the snow. In the end he lay limp as he was dragged down the hill.

_I got mugged by the Abominable Snowman_, he thought weakly, hand trailing behind him. _Abby'll never believe it_.


End file.
